


No Strangers

by Esteliel



Category: Les Misérables (Dallas 2014)
Genre: Banter, First Time, Hand Jobs, Handcuffed Together, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Showers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-01 14:11:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16286090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/pseuds/Esteliel
Summary: “Um,” Valjean said, not very eloquently. He raised his wrist in illustration. Javert’s wrist rose at the same time, as well as the chain of the handcuffs that currently connected them. “What do we do now?”





	No Strangers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [akatonbo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/akatonbo/gifts).



“Um,” Valjean said, not very eloquently. He raised his wrist in illustration. Javert’s wrist rose at the same time, as well as the chain of the handcuffs that currently connected them. “What do we do now?”

“What do you suggest we do?” Javert didn’t bother to hide the sarcasm in his voice. “You were the one who put them on.”

“Only because you were fighting me off in the water. We nearly drowned.”

“You don’t say.” Javert glared at him. “In case you didn’t notice, that’s exactly what I was trying to do.”

Valjean raised a brow. “In _this_ river?”

He didn’t even have to nod at the foul mess that rushed past them just a few steps away from where they’d made it back onto firm ground. The sludge of the polluted river still clung to their skin and had thoroughly soaked their clothes.

“I’m not the one who took a bath in the goddamn sewers,” Javert bit out. “Now get this off me.”

“You’re the one with the keys.”

Frustrated, Javert patted his pockets for the tenth time. “Can’t find them. Like I told you. So what do you suggest now?”

“Do you maybe have a spare at home?” Valjean said after a moment. “Or in your car?”

Javert snorted. “Contrary to what you may think, we aren’t issued ten sets of spare keys for our handcuffs, just in case someone decides to get kinky with their duty kit.”

“Oh.” Despite the river sludge, Valjean had the audacity to flush. “Do you... I mean, is that... Is that common?”

Javert stared at him for a long moment. “No, for God’s sake. It’s not _common_ , Valjean.”

“Oh,” Valjean said again, looking strangely off-kilter for a man who’d just jumped into one of the world’s most polluted rivers. “Okay. I didn’t mean to say that you—that is, if you were, I wouldn’t think—I mean, I wouldn’t judge.”

“For God’s sake, will you just shut up,” Javert groaned, then drew a hand through his dripping-wet hair. When he pulled back, his fingers had turned a greenish shade of muddy brown.

“I need a fucking shower,” he muttered. “And a drink or ten.”

“We both need a shower.” Valjean gave Javert a weak smile. “And maybe that drink.”

Javert huffed in response.

“We could take a taxi back to my place,” Valjean said, then hesitated. “Or—maybe to your place? I don’t want Cosette to see—”

“See you chained to me? What, are you afraid she’ll think you brought home a date?”

Valjean’s cheeks turned even redder.

“Fine,” Javert grunted. “Fine. We’ll go to my place. It’s a better idea anyway. I can keep an eye on you there.”

“Okay.”

Valjean’s cheeks were still flushed. Javert told himself that the sight had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that a part of him was slowly starting to realize that throwing himself into the polluted depths of the fucking Seine maybe hadn’t been the brightest idea he’d ever had.

***

It was only the promise of a very generous tip that made the cab driver take them to Javert’s place. That, and the fact that they’d had to resort to pretending to hold hands, so that the handcuffs connecting them would be hidden by their sleeves.

At least Valjean had been paying for it, which only made sense, given that it was his fault that Javert was currently alive and dripping probably toxic river sludge all over the seats.

In front of the apartment tower, Javert let the terminal scan his retina, then watched as the doors slid open and the ever-cheerful voice of the AI greeted him and his guest.

“He’s not a fucking guest,” he muttered as he dragged Valjean in.

“How would you like me to refer to him, sir?” the AI chirped.

Javert pressed the button for the elevator with more force than necessary, even though he knew that the AI had called down the elevator for him as soon as they’d entered.

“You can call me—” Valjean began.

Javert was on him a heartbeat later, pushing him against the wall as he pressed his hand over Valjean’s mouth.

“Don’t give it a name, damn you,” he hissed.

Not that he had any doubt that the AI was relaying information—he knew for a fact that it did. That’s why people like Valjean didn’t last more than a week out of prison on average. Still, even with Valjean’s new name and ID, Javert didn’t like the thought of any connection being made.

Then he realized how abnormal his behavior had been. If anyone were looking for anomalous goings-on in this government-funded apartment block, he might have pinged an algorithm by now.

He gritted his teeth. “Smile for the camera,” he hissed into Valjean’s ear, then nuzzled his face into Valjean’s throat, using his other arm and shoulder to block the camera’s view of Valjean’s face.

He didn’t release Valjean until the doors whizzed open soundlessly five seconds later.

“Come on.” His own face felt uncharacteristically hot as he pulled Valjean out of the elevator.

Fortunately his door was only a few steps away, opening for him the second he reached it. He pulled Valjean inside, slammed the button to force it shut, and then hastily keyed in the command to lock it and let no one in without his explicit permission, not even the people on his emergency list.

Then he collapsed against the wall, releasing a deep sigh.

“This was a bad idea,” he muttered without opening his eyes. “Why the hell did I agree to this?”

“Sorry,” Valjean offered softly. “I didn’t know you were living in one of those—well, I should have realized.”

“Low rent and high security for public servants, Valjean,” Javert said, still not opening his eyes. “And tech that actually works.”

“And that keeps a watch on you, day and night.”

“Well, yeah. I didn’t exactly have to worry about that before you decided to chain yourself to me,” Javert retorted.

“So what now?”

Valjean was still watching him when he opened his eyes, Valjean’s eyes so wide they looked nearly innocent—and he still reeked of the filth of the river.

“Now I’m going to shower this shit off me. And so will you.” Javert followed the fall of a drop of green-brown river water. “Ugh. You’re dripping all over my floor.”

“So are you,” Valjean said mildly.

From the little compartment by the entrance where the cleaning tech lived, a tiny mopping robot came out, whirring almost with disapproval as it started to clean up the filthy, muddy footprints by the door.

“Shower,” Javert said, “now,” gritting his teeth as he stomped across the pristine white of his floor towards the bathroom.

Valjean followed along—not that he had a choice.

Which was a problem, Javert realized, as soon as he’d made it into the bathroom. From the mirror there, his wet, bedraggled self looked at him. Even his coat looked filthy, although the leather had been impregnated with nanotech that was supposed to repel everything, from water to blood.

Javert clenched his teeth, deciding that he’d better not think about just what sort of toxic waste had been floating around in the river.

“Uh,” Valjean said, not very helpfully, and then held up their connected wrists again. 

Javert stared at his coat in the mirror. “Fuck,” he said, heartfelt. The only way to undress while being chained together would be to cut off the clothes...

“Maybe we can try to get rid of the handcuffs first?” Valjean suggested.

“And how do you propose we do that? I already told you, I don’t have a spare key lying around.”

More of the green-brown river sludge dripped from his hair. Javert took a deep breath, trying to remain calm.

Then, with gritted teeth, he left the bathroom to head for his bedroom. Valjean trudged along, dripping more toxic river water all over the place while the background whirring of the little mopping robot turned shrill.

Without looking at Valjean, Javert pulled out a drawer and rummaged through it, then pulled out the knife.

“Okay. Back to the shower,” he commanded, jaw still clenched. A puddle of contaminated green water was seeping into the soft, formerly pristine carpet of his bedroom, and he was suddenly uncomfortably aware of Valjean’s eyes on him.

The man was a convict. A criminal on the run. He had absolutely no right to judge Javert on hanging on to a few mementos.

Some people collected figurines of fairies or shit like that. He just liked to hang on to some of his old weapons. If you went out on patrol with a gun or a coat or a knife for ten years, you inevitably started to develop an attachment. There was nothing weird about that.

Anyway, Valjean had better be grateful for the fact that Javert had still one of the old vibro-knives around that got retired ten years ago.

Not that he could really argue with the fact that they were inefficient and did nothing to contribute to an officer’s safety, unlike his gun. But still. He’d always liked the weight of the knife on his belt.

“Is that going to cut through metal, do you think?” Valjean asked when they’d made it back to the bathroom, Javert nearly—accidentally—kicking the shrilly rotating mopping bot on the way.

“Don’t be a fool.” Javert tried not to roll his eyes. “It’s a vibro-knife. You think they give us handcuffs any common criminal could cut through in seconds?”

“So how are we going to—” Valjean began.

Javert stared at his own arm. The black leather of his usually immaculately clean, nano-reinforced coat was dull and dirty. Baring his teeth, he gripped the knife tighter and then carefully began to slice the leather open up along his arm.

“Oh,” Valjean murmured again, then stayed blessedly silent.

Javert forced himself to concentrate on his task rather than on his burgeoning headache. He cut the sleeve open all along his arm, up onto his shoulder, right to his collar. Then he hastily shrugged out of his other sleeve. The coat dropped to the floor like a discarded skin. Javert found himself grimacing again as he stuffed it into the laundry shaft, wondering whether the laundry robots would even try to repair reinforced nano-leather.

Then he gripped the knife again, following the same path once more as he sliced through the white uniform shirt he wore beneath. This one, he simply shoved into the trash. 

“Hold out your arm,” he said impatiently.

When Valjean hesitantly complied, Javert began sawing through his black sweater as well. Valjean still wore the stolen uniform of the SWAT team that had cleansed the barricade. Javert definitely didn’t want that to fall into the hands of the laundry bots. Come to think of it, he didn’t want the trash bots to stumble across it either.

They’d have to find a way to discard it somewhere outside. Maybe chuck it back into the river. Or maybe, just maybe, Valjean would finally show some common sense and deal with that problem on his own.

It really was a wonder that he’d eluded the law for so long, given how Valjean seemed to have absolutely zero instincts of self-preservation.

“Umm.” Valjean made another tentative sound, and Javert realized that he’d been staring at Valjean’s naked chest for at least a minute or two. “So... how do we do this?”

“Do what?” Javert contemplated what he was going to do with the knife while he showered. Not that he thought Valjean was going to murder him in his own shower. Still.

Again Valjean raised his hand, and with it, Javert’s came up.

“What about it? Oh,” he then said when he looked at the shower. “Oh.”

He’d have to get naked with Valjean in there. With Valjean still chained to him. There was really no other way of doing this.

“Of fucking course,” he muttered. Well, what was one more humiliation?

He didn’t look at Valjean as he stripped out of his pants and his underwear, stuffing his dirty clothes down the laundry shaft. Then he stepped into the shower—or at least tried to, because there was a sudden resistance from his wrist.

“ _What_.” He still refused to look at Valjean.

“Umm. I don’t think—” Valjean began.

“I don’t care.” Frustrated, Javert raised his free hand to rake it through his hair, then grimaced in disgust when he encountered congealing river muck.

“I just don’t think this is going to work,” Valjean continued. “How would you—”

“Watch me.” Teeth pressed together, Javert stepped fully into the shower stall, only his hand still outside. The shower turned on, the temperature just as he liked it.

For the first time in days, Javert felt a weight drop off his shoulders as hot water came raining down on him. He sighed in relief. Then he reached out for the shelf where he kept the shower gel—and came up short once more.

“What is it now?” he forced out through clenched teeth.

“I told you,” Valjean murmured, sounding apologetic. “It’s not long enough.”

Javert closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He counted to three. Then, his eyes still closed, he said, “Then take your fucking clothes off and come take a shower.”

There was a moment of silence. Then he heard Valjean swallow.

For once, Valjean didn’t argue with him. Still, it took another minute until he could hear Valjean move.

It turned out that in order to remove the stolen skintight leather trousers of the SWAT team, Valjean needed both of his hands. Which, given that Javert’s wrist was chained to his, ensured that Javert’s hand was spending a lot of time uncomfortably close to Valjean’s groin.

“We need to figure out what to do with these,” Javert said tiredly, trying to distract himself. “Chuck them somewhere far away. I’m not going to let them find stolen uniforms in my apartment.”

“I think a government-owned apartment block might be about the safest hiding place for these.” Valjean sounded like he was smiling, but Javert wasn’t about to face him to find out.

“Don’t worry,” Valjean then added, suddenly sounding tired as well. “I’ll take them when I leave.”

Which was an entirely different headache, because that wouldn’t happen until they’d gotten the handcuffs off.

“Shower. Now,” Javert said.

The shower had stopped as soon as he’d moved out from beneath it. Now it turned back on. Javert focused on the hot water falling down on him, resolutely ignoring the fact that Jean Valjean was sharing the same shower with him. Naked.

And chained to him.

Javert swallowed thickly. To distract himself, he reached out for the shower gel again, then grimaced when Valjean’s hand came forward along with his own.

Awkwardly, he ended up squeezing the gel into his left hand, then squeezed some into Valjean’s as well. “Go on. Get cleaned up,” he said brusquely.

Valjean’s hip was brushing against his. Valjean’s skin was hot and wet and strangely smooth, and Javert realized all of a sudden that he’d never shared a shower with another person.

Valjean, on the other hand, was probably used to it. Anyway, it was Valjean who’d chained them together. Which meant that this entire undignified thing happening here was all his fault.

Grimly, Javert scrubbed at his chest and neck with his left hand. He raised his face into the spray of hot water, eyes closed—and then Valjean tugged on his wrist again, and their hips bumped against each other once more.

“Sorry,” Valjean said—sounding strangely tight and embarrassed.

Surprised, Javert opened his eyes.

“What for?” he demanded suspiciously, turning around at last to face Valjean—who inexplicably seemed to have flushed an even brighter red and wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“Nothing,” Valjean said, his body turned away from Javert, his chest gleaming with water and fuds of foam. “I didn’t—it’s nothing.”

Javert barked a laugh. “Don’t tell me you’re shy.”

There was no answer, although Valjean clumsily tried to turn even more, which—as he should have realized—wouldn’t work. They’d spent enough time testing the freedom the chain left them that by now, Javert knew exactly how far he could move his hand.

“You _are_ ,” he said a moment later. “You’re... Really, Valjean?”

Even Valjean’s neck seemed flushed with color now as he shifted his shoulders in obvious discomfort. Which drew Javert’s attention to them—and then to his broad back, gleaming and wet.

Javert swallowed when a moment later, his eyes landed on Valjean’s naked butt. He’d seen that ass before in the SWAT team’s nano-leather pants, of course—but there hadn’t been time to dwell on the perfectly round buttocks, because they’d both been about to die.

Now, naked, it was a lot harder to keep from staring at them.

Javert moistened his suddenly dry lips. How come that he’d never noticed Valjean’s ass before?

Of course, he’d always worn loose-fitting pants before, first in prison and then in Montreuil.

With this distracting sight in front of him, it was suddenly difficult to focus on his task. Even when he forced himself to raise his soapy hand and begin scrubbing his wet hair, his eyes dropped again and again to Valjean’s perfectly squeezable ass.

“Damn,” he muttered when he caught himself staring at Valjean’s ass once more. The shower gel chose that moment to slip from his fingers.

“What’s wrong?” Valjean turned around anxiously.

Javert managed to lift his eyes just in time to avoid being caught staring at Valjean’s dick. Although of course that meant that all of a sudden he now found himself curious about Valjean’s dick. Instead, he forced himself to stare at the tattoo on Valjean’s neck.

“Nothing. Just dropped the soap.”

“Is that a prison joke?” Valjean said suspiciously. “Javert—”

Javert nodded towards where the open bottle of shower gel rested on the tiles.

“Oh.” Valjean still sounded nervous.

“I have no idea why you’re so fidgety when you’ve spent nineteen years locked up in prison.” Javert barely refrained from rolling his eyes. “Don’t bother, I’ll get it.”

He reached down for the damn bottle—which promptly skidded a foot away when he tried to grab it with his soapy fingers. Biting back a curse, he leaned forward—and coming back up with it, he suddenly found himself face to face with Valjean’s groin.

Which, unlike his neck, did not sport a tattoo, as he could now say with absolute certainty.

“I didn’t,” Valjean said, “I mean, I don’t, I never...” He broke off and swallowed, and a moment later, when they were face to face again, he added, “I never showered with a cop before.”

“Ha,” Javert said darkly. “Don’t get used to it.”

Of course his foot chose that moment to slip on the small puddle of shower gel the opened bottle had left on the tiles. All of a sudden, he found himself pressed against Valjean’s body, Valjean’s warm, wet arm against his chest—and his hips pressed into Valjean’s hips.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Javert could feel Valjean’s shocked, rapid breathing against his throat. And he could also feel Valjean’s soapy skin against his cock—which for some reason had begun to harden.

_Fuck._

“Sorry,” he murmured automatically as he moved back, keeping a hand on the wall. “I didn’t mean to—”

He couldn’t think of how to end the sentence.

“It’s... I mean, I—” Valjean broke off. When Javert finally managed to meet his gaze, Valjean’s cheeks were blushed a bright red and his eyes were wide, a little panicky.

“It’s okay,” Valjean finished at last.

“Yeah, well, don’t feel flattered. It’s the adrenaline,” Javert said, which was bullshit, because it had been a while since they’d been on the verge of dying. And even though he usually wasn’t that picky about who to fuck, right now all his body was crying out for was the sweet oblivion of sleep, and maybe a handful of painkillers.

Of course, that was before Valjean had stripped and revealed an ass that belonged on, well, a stripper.

“Of course.” Valjean didn’t sound not convinced at all, and still as nervous as before.

Which was laughable because really, Jean Valjean—who’d served nineteen years in Toulon—had probably spent more of his life taking communal showers than enjoying any privacy in a bathroom. So why was he blushing like a virgin now?

“Wait a minute,” Javert said out loud. He tugged insistently on the handcuff that connected them. “Don’t tell me you came out of Toulon a virgin? Nineteen fucking years, Valjean! I worked there, you know. I know what’s going on.”

“Of course you do. And never lifted a hand to stop anything, did you?” Valjean sounded bitter. Then he took a deep breath, and when he lifted his head to stare at Javert, much of the blush was gone. “And I don’t think it’s any of your business. But for what it’s worth, I—yes. I’m not what you think I am. Never was.”

“That remains to be seen,” Javert said, a part of him still reeling with the strange certainty that Valjean was—not an innocent, perhaps, but something else. _Good_. A good man.

And an honest-to-God virgin, apparently. Javert wanted to laugh, but he couldn’t. He was unbearably tired. He wanted to sleep. To sleep, and maybe not wake up again. That would make everything so much easier.

“Go on,” he said a moment later. “Let’s finish up. And get dressed again. Maybe we’ll figure out a way to get these off.”

They didn’t. Just as Javert had predicted. The knife couldn’t cut through nano-reinforced steel. And the wires Valjean tried to jam into the tiny keyhole didn’t do anything either.

Javert dimly recalled that for some reason, they’d stopped a trial of fingerprint-operated handcuffs six years ago. Probably because a criminal could overpower a cop and force their thumb on the reader. Still, those would have made his life a lot easier right now. Instead, Javert found himself sitting on his couch face to face with a bare-chested Jean Valjean in his own pajama bottoms, which were a little too tight for Valjean—which also meant that Javert had a pretty good view of those powerful thighs and that squeezable ass.

He bit back a yawn as he watched Valjean poke at the keyhole again.

“Look, I know that you’re a famous escape artist, but it seems that tech has finally caught up with you. Unless you’ve got a pair of code-breaker lockpicks hidden up your ass, we’re not getting these off tonight. So might as well catch a few hours of sleep and see if we’ll get a better idea tomorrow.”

Valjean flushed again, although he held Javert’s gaze steadily. “Just because I don’t have any experience with... It doesn’t mean you have to be deliberately crude to try and shock me. Nineteen years in prison, remember.”

“Oh, I remember,” Javert said darkly.

Although the man sitting next to him didn’t seem particularly criminal right now. Or threatening.

Despite the tattoo on his neck, something about Valjean seemed weirdly innocent as he sat across from Javert with his legs folded, bare-chested and those huge, distrustful eyes focused on the tiny lock.

Or intimate, perhaps. Perhaps that was why everything felt so off.

He’d never brought a guest back home before. Or a _guest_ , as far as the AI was concerned.

Not that the AI would care, even if he brought a hooker back home. As long as they didn’t disturb the neighbors or started doing drugs in his apartment, the AI couldn’t care less about whom he fucked.

Still. The rare times he found himself wanting sex, he’d gone out for it. Bringing someone back home had always seemed wrong. This was _his_ place. The men he’d fucked had been… He didn’t even remember their faces.

But for some reason, it felt perfectly normal to have Jean Valjean with his list of convictions and his lies and his forged ID wearing Javert’s own pajama bottoms and sharing his couch.

Javert shook his head, trying to dislodge the weird sensation. He was definitely sleep-deprived.

“Let’s sleep,” he said tiredly. “I promise I’m going to shut up about this. I don’t actually care who you fuck or not.”

“If you’re sure.” Valjean’s face was faintly red again, but he was smiling a little.

It was ridiculous how easily the man flushed. How had Javert never noticed that before?

“Very sure.”

It wasn’t quite as easy as he’d thought, of course. His bed was large, but even so, they were cuffed together and still bare-chested.

Worse, Javert wasn’t used to not being alone in his bed. He’d never slept next to someone like this. Not since he was a child.

And now, next to him, Jean Valjean was breathing quietly, his presence undeniable despite the darkness of the room. He could just as well have been glowing like a night-light. Javert couldn’t help but be uncomfortably aware of him, and of the body he’d gotten up close to in the shower, compact but strong.

Eventually, exhaustion must have caught up with him, because when Javert woke again the room was lit by sunlight, his AI gently buzzing close to his ear.

“You have a message from the Prefecture, sir,” it said respectfully.

Javert groaned in response, then flung out an arm for the nightstand—only to freeze in dismay.

He’d forgotten about Jean Valjean, who’d been asleep next to him. And who was now beneath him—no longer asleep, going by the tensing of his body.

If he’d even been asleep before, because there was something else that was stirring against Javert now.

_Well, well._

“Sorry,” Javert said, although he didn’t quite mean it.

The annoying truth was that he was hard as well. And though he’d never been in the habit of sleeping next to a lover, right now he had to admit that it was rather enjoyable to feel a warm, sleepy Valjean naked against his own bare skin.

Slowly, he rolled back. His cock had pressed against Valjean’s thigh; surely Valjean was aware of it now.

“It’s okay,” Valjean said. He still sounded slightly breathless.

“So. Still chained together.”

Valjean smiled a little, tilting his head towards him. “No helpful elves appearing in the middle of the night to take it off.”

Javert grunted in response, refusing to think about their current problem before he’d had coffee. He could offer Valjean some as well, and then they could sit in the kitchen and think about their problem some more.

Or they could...

He rolled over again, turning towards Valjean. He rested a hand on his thigh.

“Do you want me to take care of this?”

“Oh.” Valjean sounded—not shocked, perhaps, but surprised. As if he hadn’t thought that Javert would acknowledge this.

As he watched, Valjean swallowed. Their eyes still locked, Valjean slowly raised a hand and rested in on Javert’s chest. Then he inhaled.

“Do you.... do you want to?”

Javert frowned a little as he realized that he did indeed want to. He couldn’t quite say when that had happened. Maybe it was just the shower, Valjean’s wet, soapy body still on his mind.

But for some reason, he did want to.

Not to repay Valjean for the river. But Valjean was already in his bed. And for someone who’d never, ever brought another person home before, it was strangely satisfying to have Valjean here. To see him wear his clothes. To hear him breathe softly next to his own head. It wasn’t something he’d ever wanted before, some stranger in what was his own space.

“Yeah,” Javert said roughly. “I really, really want to.”

“Okay.”

He wondered why Valjean’s eyes were so soft. Valjean had absolutely no reason to trust him. Or to want this in the first place, when he’d never, in all those years...

Slowly, he slid his hand up Valjean’s thigh. His own dick was aching mindlessly, but he ignored it. He’d had a good look at Valjean’s cock before, but it had been brief, and Valjean had been soft. Right now, his fingers were itching to close around Valjean, to feel his size and weight, to hold him, all heavy and real. Warm and alive and breathing, here where he had no right to be, in Javert’s space. A good man and a criminal. A virgin, a convict, an absolute puzzle—but not a stranger. Whatever they were—they weren’t strangers.

“Wait,” Valjean said breathlessly when Javert’s hand had almost reached its destination.

For a moment, disappointment flashed through Javert, followed by the realization that it was actual disappointment, not simply frustration.

And then Valjean’s hand was on his cheek, his thumb moving tentatively against the rasp of Javert’s unshaven chin, and a moment later, Valjean leaned in to kiss him.

For a man who’d never done that before, at his age, he was surprisingly forward about it, at least. Not, Javert had to admit, that he had much experience with kissing himself. Not like this. In his own bedroom, with someone warm and tentative and relaxed in his arms.

Not a random hookup—although even those had been rarer than he was ready to admit in public.

Valjean’s mouth was warm, and despite his inexperience, he opened for Javert. Slowly, Javert stroked Valjean’s thigh, enjoying the feeling of the relaxed muscle beneath his fingers.

Then Valjean sighed and pulled back a little, his eyes dazed, his lips quirking into a smile.

“Okay,” he said, sounding even more breathless now, and less tentative.

Javert found himself smiling as well.

This time, it was he who leaned in for the kiss, at the same time as he finally slid his hand all the way up to Valjean’s waist, and then slipped inside his pajamas.

Valjean was hot and hard.

He stroked him slowly, enjoying the way Valjean gasped against his lips.

“Feels better than doing it yourself, hmm?”

Fuck—and that was a mental image he hadn’t needed, Jean Valjean touching himself, when Javert was already so hard just from waking up in the same bed next to someone who should be his enemy.

“It does,” Valjean admitted. Then his mouth was back against Javert’s as he softly panted for breath, at the same time as Javert felt a hand slip into his own pajama bottoms.

Valjean’s hand freed him of his underwear and then began to stroke him. The motion was a little awkward because of the angle, but there was nothing shy about him now.

They came like that—like teenagers coming right in their clothes. Belatedly Javert realized that getting naked would have made cleaning up a lot easier.

But then, chucking come-stained clothes down the laundry shaft would just confirm to the AI what they’d played out for the elevator cameras earlier. If the AI even went so far as to monitor that, which Javert doubted. There were limits as to how much money the government was willing to invest into the housing of public servants.

Still, considering that for all he knew it had been Valjean’s first time, this had been nice. 

Which was weird, because he’d never felt like this after a hookup before.

So... relaxed. Not itching with the urge to run home and shower.

Valjean leaned against him, his breath still coming a little faster, hot air against Javert’s shoulder. It _was_ a nice sensation.

Javert lifted his hand to wrap it around Valjean’s waist and maybe find out if that ass was as squeezable as it looked—but all he succeeded in was to yank Valjean’s arm up along with his.

“Ouch,” Valjean said.

Right. There was that one small problem.

“Sorry.”

Apparently the handcuffs really hadn’t miraculously fallen off over night. Which meant that they were still facing the same problem.

But he was feeling less tired. Less annoyed.

And way less inclined to jump into the toxic waters of the Seine, Javert realized with growing embarrassment.

He should probably thank Valjean for rescuing him. Even if it had landed them in this entire mess.

Instead, helpfully, the AI announced, “Your coffee is ready, sir.”

“Breakfast?” Javert asked.

Valjean nodded. He no longer looked quite as wary when he got up, although he still hesitated a moment before he followed Javert’s example and pulled his stained clothes off.

Javert pulled clean underwear from a drawer. “Better put these on or I can’t promise that I’ll let you eat breakfast in peace.”

He had no idea why he was suddenly in such a good mood—even though he was still chained to Valjean and couldn’t very well show up at work this way.

Still, when Valjean bent over, he got another excellent view of that ass, which really looked entirely too squeezable—no longer the rock-hard, solid muscle of forced labor, but strength mixed with enough softness to let him grab a nice handful and squeeze.

“Javert,” Valjean said mildly when he straightened again. “You’re staring.”

“Oh.” He really was, he realized. Hastily, Javert pulled on new underwear. When he turned around afterwards, Valjean was smiling.

Javert waited until the coffee was poured before he casually let his hand rest on the small of Valjean’s back. When that didn’t cause any protest, he let it drop lower.

Damn. It _was_ a nice ass.

Valjean laughed softly, although his cheeks were red again.

Valjean really blushed way too easily. It was frustratingly addictive. Endearing, even.

Valjean moved his wrist to jangle the chain once they’d had their coffee and the pancakes the AI had heated for them. “So. What about these?”

“I could have it opened at work,” Javert said reluctantly. “But—”

“No.” Valjean had paled at the suggestion, his lips tightly pressed together. “They’d take my fingerprints and retina scans.”

“Your fake papers work. They’ve worked for what—ten years now? We’ve got the same database at the station than any random cop who stopped you on the street.”

Valjean shook his head. “I can’t risk it. Unless you want...” He swallowed.

Javert snorted, strangely annoyed by the suggestion. “Look, we already know that I’d rather kill myself than turn you in. So I didn’t die—but that still doesn’t mean that I’ve changed my mind about you. I’m not going to turn you in. I couldn’t. It’s not right.”

“Okay.” Valjean took a deep breath, then gave him another of those tentative smiles that made his eyes light up. “Thanks. So what else have we got?”

“I don’t have anything that can cut through nano-steel. Unless you’ve got black market contacts...”

“I know a man,” Valjean said slowly. “Or at least, know a place where they’d know someone. But it’s too risky. With you there...”

“Yeah,” Javert said dryly. “Let’s not get me killed now after all the trouble you went through.”

“Do the cuffs have an interface you can access? We could try to hack—”

“Wait,” Javert said when faintly, from outside, they heard the muffled voice of an AI greeting a neighbor. “Of course! I should have thought of that.”

Valjean gave him a quizzical look. “What’s going on?” he asked, but readily came along when Javert tugged him towards the bedroom.

“Put this on. Just play along with whatever I do.” Javert handed Valjean his bathrobe, then shrugged on his leather coat, which the laundry bots had indeed managed to clean and repair.

Which also meant that both he and Valjean faced the problem of not being able to pull the coat over more than one arm. Still, Valjean wrapped his bathrobe around himself and kept it closed with the belt, and Javert held his coat shut with his arm wrapped around himself.

“Just stay silent. We’re lovers.” Javert dragged Valjean to the door, which whooshed open automatically—exposing them to the corridor in all their half-dressed, handcuffed glory.

Fortunately, the corridor was empty.

As quickly as possible, Javert made his way down to the third door to his left. Valjean was looking around in embarrassment, cheeks and nose bright red again—which would have been adorable if Javert hadn’t felt just as embarrassed at this moment.

Still, if they were lucky, Simon had a late shift today…

It took a few seconds after the AI had announced them for the door to open. Simon had clearly been asleep; his hair was tousled and he was blinking at them in annoyance, which immediately changed once he saw them.

“Javert?” he said in confusion. “What’s going on?”

“Not out here,” Javert hissed. “Can we come in for a second?”

“Uh—sure.” Simon gave Valjean a suspicious look, but stepped aside to let them enter.

Javert sighed in relief when the door closed.

“Look, this is horribly embarrassing,” he began, “and please don’t ever tell anyone. But you wouldn’t happen to have your key for the handcuffs here?”

Simon’s eyes widened almost comically as he turned to stare at their hands, the chain currently hidden by their clothes.

With a grimace, Javert shrugged his shoulder free and held out his hand. “Okay, I know what it looks like,” he said. “And it’s exactly what it looks like. But we lost the key last night, and even the vacubot couldn’t find it. Please tell me you’ve got yours here.”

Still staring at the handcuff, Simon swallowed. To Javert’s relief, he didn’t start laughing.

Good. Perhaps Simon was still too intimidated by Javert’s reputation. Which perhaps also meant that he wouldn’t immediately share the details with all of their colleagues.

Simon’s mouth twitched. Then he turned to look at Valjean again—and shit, Javert hadn’t thought of that. What if Simon recognized Valjean from his old mug shots?

But Valjean was still a bright red, and at Simon’s scrutiny, shifted in embarrassment while tugging his bathrobe closer. He was the very picture of a mortified lover after a bedroom game gone wrong.

By the time Simon faced Javert again, he was grinning widely.

“I see,” he said, not even bothering to hide his amusement. “You realize that this is what they warn every new recruit about?”

Javert straightened, raising his brow a little. Simon immediately took a step back.

“I’ll get that key straight away,” he said. “And don’t worry. I’d never rat out a colleague in need.”

Javert released a deep, anguished sigh when Simon left the room.

He’d never live this down. The news would spread like wildfire, and for his next birthday, someone would leave wrapped handcuffs at his desk. Still. It could have been worse. At least they didn’t have to trudge through the city like this.

“Here you are,” Simon said brightly when he returned and inserted the key into the small hole. With a small hum, the cuffs read the access code and unlocked a second later.

Valjean hastily pulled back his freed hand to pull his bathrobe even closer. Javert shoved the cuffs into his pocket, massaging his wrist.

“Thanks. I owe you,” he told Simon. “And remember. No one can know.”

“I promise,” Simon said, chuckling as he accompanied them to the door. “And remember—no more mixing work and pleasure, eh?”

Javert gave him a weak smile—and then, at last, they were outside, and the door whizzed shut again.

Javert sighed in relief. The corridor was still empty. For all he knew, the AI was still watching them. Way more likely, Simon was watching from behind his door.

To hell with it, Javert thought and drew Valjean into another kiss, who gasped in surprise against his lips before relaxing against him. If he’d have to live the rest of his life with the rumors of this, he could at least make sure to give Simon a good show.

And for some reason, it didn’t feel strange at all to hold Valjean in his arms, even here where the cameras could see.

Foolish, yes. Needlessly risky.

But also strangely, beautifully right.


End file.
